


And the Roses Will Bloom Again

by lokiyan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:09:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokiyan/pseuds/lokiyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Game of Thrones Kink Meme prompt: This AU is probably cracktastic, and definitely convoluted but... Let's say Sansa marries Joffery as planned, and it goes about as well as you'd expect. Some time later, Sansa meets Willas Tyrell (Highgarden hosts a tournament?) and the two of them fall totally, past-the-point-of-discretion, head-over-heels in love with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Roses Will Bloom Again

In life, the monsters won. 

When Joffrey Baratheon (Lannister) clasped his crowned stag cloak upon her shoulders, Sansa silently cursed every song and story she had ever heard. She cursed Old Nan for filling her head with flowery knights and princes. She cursed Septa Mordane for beating into her the courtesies and caution that stopped her from plummeting to her death alongside Joffrey. She cursed Arya for leaving her alone here and she cursed her mother for making her believe that one day, she could have a marriage like her parents. 

When he pressed his worm lips over hers, his fingertips digging into the skin of her forearm, she felt the chill of winter settle over her like a heavy cloak. She was steel, ivory, marble all in one when the men dragged her to the bedding, tearing at her clothes like rabid dogs. It was only the largest of them all, the Hound of House Clegane, who stopped them from ruining her small-clothes. His eyes were apologetic as he closed the door to her cage. 

She waited for him like a lamb waiting for slaughter.

The next morning, he was too hungover to wake from his blood-spotted marriage bed and Cersei had long been sent back to Casterly Rock by her own son. Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, bowed to her when she entered and took a seat to the left. It was Queen Sansa who sat the Iron Throne, marks on her back beneath her gown and swords prodding her back. The danger felt familiar and she greeted the council politely. 

The court breathed a sigh of relief.

***

Sansa suffered two miscarriages in just as many years and it seemed as though Joffrey, monstrous as he was, had a heart for his own blood after all. She counted them as blessings, sacrifices, even as she shed tears for her unborn cubs, for their ghosts drove her husband from her chambers and into the beds of whores and ladies throughout the South. 

She sang them prayers each night before she fell asleep.

***

The war ends as they all must, and her brother, King in the North, rides back to Winterfell with a staked claim in exchange for the famed Kingslayer. Tywin Lannister cared more for his heir than yet another lunatic on the Iron Throne and retreated, along with his army, back to the Rock. 

Sansa heard that her sister found her way back home to be with their brothers, but none of them would ever step foot in the South again. She, the shackled little bird, could never fly home either. 

On her mother’s name day, she asked a favor of her good uncle, by far the strongest ally she had in court. He delivered the remains of her father to the border at the neck for a proper burial in the family crypt. He returned with a message from Arya, whom she never understood and who never understood her: When her time comes, she will make certain that she is returned home as well. But for now, she should say to Death, not today. 

Tyrion held her hand silently as Sansa wept into the page. 

***

It is said that Lady Catelyn Stark died of a broken heart.

***

The court exit as it always did, but for the tap-tap-tap in the footsteps. Sansa looked to find a man, several years her senior from what she could tell, walking slowly with a heavy limp just as the heavy doors of the throne room were to close on him. She rushed forward and flicked her wrist for the nearby guard to open the door. Sansa was anxious to catch a glimpse of his face. In a den of lions, strangers were a cause for alarm.

As she approached, the man bowed and began to descend into a kneel. Mindful of her courtesies, she bent and caught him by the elbows to raise him. “Please, there is no need for such formalities given...” It was impolite to point out another’s shortcomings and he helpfully continues the flow of conversation.

“You are very kind, my Queen.” He straightened up and Sansa is surprised by the youthfulness in his face. From his form, she had imagined him to be much older and, if she must admit it, deformed. Instead, he was handsome, not in the striking way of Jaime Lannister, but soft and warm. He was Robb and Jon all mixed in one, open and kind, quiet and thoughtful. 

She came to learn much about this stranger, the heir to Highgarden, Warden of the South. 

***

Joffrey roamed the Stormlands, searching for a fine wine and a finer woman. All the while, Willas Tyrell took in the view from Kings Landing. 

Sansa Stark Baratheon was nothing he expected. Strong, certainly, but well loved for someone brought up as a hostage. There was a steel in her eyes when she beheld the court who stood by and watched her suffer with welts on her arms and bruises on her cheek, but not once did he note any punishment unrelated to a specific crime. He heard tales that she followed her father, a fair and just man by all accounts. In court, he could learn from her.

But then he would catch her in the library unawares, or the garden with a swatch of full bloom behind her and her wide eyes would call to him like a wounded doe. In the rare moments when he found her alone, they would speak for hours on everything from gardening to hawking to people of the court. She was charming and clever, if not rather expectedly guarded, and Willas found himself hanging onto every word that fell from her mouth as he never had with another woman. What was worse was how distracted he was by her red, pillowed lips. It made him feel like half-wit as he tried to follow the conversation. 

Then again, Willas pondered. Only a half-wit would give his whole heart to the queen of a Mad King. 

It was one day, when he found her in the godswood as the sun set gold in her hair, he spoke out of turn. “Your laugh rivals all the singers in the land.”

It was nothing. A small compliment, empty had it come from any other flatterer in court, but her ice blue eyes melted around him and she placed her hand on his knee. The world grew silent and Willas could hear nothing but the sound of his blood pumping in his ears. An echo and a pained smile before him. “I had forgotten what it’s like to laugh.”

She squeezed his knee and walked away in a sweep of gown. The Hound appeared from a tree several lengths behind him and followed, but not without a scowl.

The next day, Willas Tyrell was ordered home to his seat in the Reach. The queen did not sit in at court to watch him leave.

***

The days passed slowly for Sansa and she could feel her eyelids drooping before they were done. It seemed as though her new friend - and she had so few - had taken the sun with him back to the gardens. 

It was Tyrion who, with a wry smile over his wine goblet, suggested that perhaps it was proper time that a visit was made to the Reach to ensure the loyalty of the people. 

“Roses,” he reasoned, “require so much attention. Pesky, if you ask me, but I feel it would do you some good as well to tend to them. I know how much you love to garden.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I haven’t the slightest clue what you are talking about.”

“Of course you don’t, my dear.”

***

It was a year before the queen could make the arrangements to make a visit to HIghgarden. A girl of seven and ten years now, Sansa sat tall on her side saddle as she rode through the gates to the famed city. 

Lord Mace Tyrell and his wife greeted her, their children trailing behind. The heir, still unwed, seemed to be the center of the ladies’ attention, but held eyes only for the queen with the flaming hair. Then came Garlan the Gallant, who lived up to his name in his manners, but not without the expense of his elder brother when he teased him about the changes in his behavior since his time in King’s Landing. Ser Loras Tyrell was as she remembered from the King’s tourney, proud and gleaming in the sunlight, yet broken to the core, just as she was, from profound loss.

Lady Margaery Tyrell, the golden rose of Highgarden, greeted her with a kind smile on her sweet face. It made Sansa wary how quickly she felt at ease with the girl as she was shown around the city. Even more so, in the way she could feel a pair of eyes lingering on the nape of her neck as the lovely pair walked along the streets and alleys.

“He absolutely idolizes you,” Margaery murmured as her hands pointed to yet another statue. “One would think you were a goddess rather than a mortal queen in the way he describes you.”

“Certainly, Lady Margaery, your brother is generous in his accounts.”

The girl - woman, really, by the way she is able to change her demeanor to fit each situation - paused and turned to her, a knowing smile on her lips. “Willas used to sit me on his lap and read me stories and draw me pictures of the stars when I was a little girl. He is a dreamer and the way he talks about and looks at you... You are the Maiden in all of his stories.”

Sansa glanced curiously at the figure in the shadows. It had been years since she heard of stories, and longer since she believed in them.

***

Willas’ greatest regret in losing full function of his leg is his inability to truly ride ever again. He strapped the saddle onto his favorite steed tightly and brought Starburst over to the ladies, where Sansa was still waiting on her horse. His sister and her ladies were already seated on their mares when he approached and handed the reins to his stable boy. Sansa patted the horse on lightly on his neck. “He’s beautiful.”

“One of your thoroughbreds, brother? My queen is lucky - my brother guards his favorites as though they were his children.” Willas felt his face flush and shot a warning glance at his meddling sister, who only tipped her head with a wry smile in response.

“My queen,” he bowed and offered his hand to help her onto the saddle and his fingers curled around her lace-gloved hand gently, suddenly feeling warmer than ever. Her other hand reached for the front of the saddle, but her clear blue eyes wandered toward him and Willas felt his throat close. 

Sansa stepped back, but kept her hand in his. “I could not be responsible for a thing so close to you, Ser Willas, and truly, I do not feel much in the mood for riding today. If you will excuse me, Lady Margaery, I should like to spend an evening in the gardens.”

“I am sure you will find our roses absolutely delightful, my queen.” His sister sped off with her company, and Willas was left standing with the queen’s hand. 

“Shall we, Ser Willas? I am afraid I will need a guide. Your gardens are so vast.”

“It would be my pleasure.” He offered her the crook of his arm, mindful of his cane on the other. 

It was that day, among his winter roses, between stumbling words and heavy blushes, that he kissed Sansa Stark for the first time. It was Sansa, the girl from North, that he tasted, not the queen who sat on a throne made of swords of the dead. 

He could not get enough.

***

“I hear you have been enjoying the company of our queen, child.”

“Yes, I have been fortunate,” Willas replied slowly as he brought the tea to his lips. One must always be careful with the Queen of Thorns.

“No, son, your grandmother means, you’ve been enjoying her grace’s company quite... often.” His father, on the other hand, was never quite a threat.

“Don’t be daft, Willas. I mean, are you carrying on an affair with the queen?” He hardly knew what to say. “Goodness, child, you just went from bright red to white to pink all at once. Relax, we don’t plan on detailing your indiscretions in a raven to the king and invite him to execute you.” 

“Well, that is a relief, I suppose, grandmother. Yes, I am rather fond of her.”

“Her...the queen.”

“Yes, father, the queen.” 

“Honestly, Mace, if you can’t keep up, you should just leave the room.” Willas stifled a laugh. “Now what do you plan to do about it?”

He sighed, it was not a prospect he liked to consider. “What is there to do? When the season is over, she will return to King’s Landing to her husband. And I will remain here, thinking of her with an aching heart.”

“Have you been taking precautions against pregnancy?” The men choked in unison. “Joffrey may be evil but he is not a complete dimwit. He will know the child is a bastard if he hadn’t taken his rights in a year.”

“Grandmother! We haven’t - that is, we are not - it is not a concern.”

“Well, why ever not? We all know what the king is and she seems like a perfectly lovely girl.” His grandmother never did let trifles get in the way. “Willas, are you a Tyrell or not? There are ways around every problem.”

“Grandmother, I’m afraid-”

“Yes, that is your problem, isn’t it? You’re always afraid. The men in this family - you’re either completely brash like your father or you are overly cautious and hiding behind your sense.”

***

Their affair became somewhat of an open secret in Highgarden - hidden kisses were not so hidden, secret glances were observed by all, and should he leave her chambers at an ungodly hour, no one spoke a word of it. Spring had come to the Reach in the form of Sansa Stark. 

Two months into her visit, she dragged his hands from her waist to the curve of her hips and pushed forward toward him until his palms rested around her buttocks and her body was flush against his. Willas closed his eyes and shuddered at her breath landing gently on his ear and tightened his grip. He slid his hand up her skirts, shaking like a schoolboy, and touched her gently where no one had ever been gentle with her. She took his face in her hands to ground herself and smashed her mouth open against his.

It was a flurry of teeth-reddened flesh and torn silks, but the pair consummated their relationship beneath a giant oak tree in the garden, under the sky. She laid her head on his chest after and traced patterns on his smooth skin. “They say the men that lay east of the narrow sea conduct all of their most important moments in life beneath the stars,” she whispered.

“To bear witness of the act.” She nodded, strands of red hair moving like silk against him. He held her close and the two created a pretty picture - the handsome lord and the highborn lady. It was a shame no one could ever truly bear witness to them.

***

Prince Oberyn of Dorne always felt the need to make such a dramatic entrance that even Willas’ sister rolled her eyes good humoredly at him. Having met the queen only once, Oberyn rode his sandsteed straight into the dining hall while the family broke their fast and, with a sweep of his cape, slid off his horse onto one knee before her. Sansa smiled indulgently at the eccentric man and his Southron ways, so completely opposite to her own. Hated by nearly everyone else in the room, Oberyn was escorted by his dear friend toward the stables, where they spent the day talking about one frivolous thing or another.

They were on their second flagon of wine, drank mostly by the Dornish prince, when he spoke of the true purpose of his visit. “The little bastard is tired of his queen being away and the small council is pressuring him for an heir. I should warn you, my friend, that he plans to make an unannounced visit to your lovely city and darken the place with his stinking presence.”

Willas grew pale and tightened his fist around his cup. “You should be more careful, to speak of our king is such a manner.”

“He’s not my king,” Oberyn replied in the flippant way that Willas had always found refreshing. “And certainly, it seems as though he is not the lovely Sansa’s king either. Don’t bother denying it, friend. A blind man can see the looks between you.”

“It is nothing,” Willas could only say. It was Sansa’s honor in danger, not his.

“I don’t understand why you’re denying it, it is not as though I have a place to judge anyone.” Willas remained unmoved. “If you insist, but do heed my warning. As much of a little shit as Joffrey is, he does have the power of the Iron Throne behind him. This will not end well for you or her should he suspect and the way neither of you can keep your hands off each other...”.

“I suppose I must end it then. I don’t care much for my own life, but Sansa-” Willas stopped as Oberyn held up a single finger to interrupt.

“I wouldn’t give up just yet, Tyrell. They may despise me but I believe you will find that your brothers and sister are more than capable of providing you with some assistance. Perhaps everyone will get their happy ending.”

If Sansa were here, Willas could imagine her words - there are no happy endings.

***

As per his warning, Joffrey arrived just after Oberyn’s departure. The once handsome prince grew fat during his ruling years, and he slid off his horse just as ungraceful as his named father. His face was ruddy from riding and wine and his grip was tight around Sansa’s wrist when he pulled her in for a kiss on the cheek, scowling when she pulled away.

Behind him, Willas’ siblings exchanged a look. It would be done.

***

Sansa was surprised and relieved when, after one horrifically failed attempt that ended in Garlan rushing into their bedchambers from noise, Joffrey never sought her out. She was far more surprised when she happened upon him with Margaery Tyrell in their solar obviously sharing a quiet and intimate moment before the fire. 

“You cannot possibly understand what you are asking - what you are giving up,” Sansa confided in her friend the next day.

Margaery smiled and patted her hand. “Worry not for me. I was groomed for this and I have Joffrey wrapped around my finger and hundreds of thousands of men in the Reach to defend me should I need it. My father has always wanted his daughter to become queen.”

Sansa froze - what would become of her then? Did she trust the wrong people yet again? Will they throw her into the lion’s den to be eaten alive, bones and all? 

“You know, I am doing a lot of this for you. Well, for Willas.” Sansa’s eyes sharpen to her companion. With Joffrey in her proximity again, she felt threats in every corner. Perhaps she had been complacent for too long in Highgarden, lured by the flowers and perfumes of it all. Perhaps this love is all just an illusion... “He has a bad leg, but a good heart. All of us - Loras, Garlan, and I - know beyond a shadow of doubt that he is the best of us. He deserves far more than what our father’s foolishness landed him.” Margaery took Sansa’s hand. “None of us could help Loras when he lost his love and we have all felt the guilt ever since. We cannot allow the same to happen to Willas. Say what you will about our family and our ambitions, but we care for our own.”

Perhaps Sansa had been lulled into a false comfort, but it felt so good that she truly believed she could remain in it forever.

***

“I have grown tired of you,” Joffrey sneered over supper. Sansa, used to his derision and abuse, kept silent and continued her meal. “Your frozen cunt and useless belly. You can’t even hold a royal seed to fruition. What sort of queen are you? Do you think you’re better than everyone because I allow you to sit on the throne once in a while?”

“I don’t think anything, your Grace.”

“That’s right, because you’re stupid. Mother always said so.” He stood and walked behind her. His hand reached out and closed around her neck from behind. “Did you know I could kill you right now if I wanted to? I’m the king - I can do as I please.”

Sansa’s face remained unchanged. This king never could do anything by himself.

“Although, Lady Margaery has given me a better idea - that is why she will make far better queen than you. The last thing I need is another rebellion from the North. No, it is far better for you just to... disappear.”

***

It is said that the Tyrell’s riches and power were comparable to that of Lannister’s. If so, the rumors could be true. The rumors that the lost queen still lived somewhere deep within the Reach with the Tyrell cripple who was supposedly discarded by his family. A pretty young thing with Tully red hair, blue eyes, and a kind smile tending to her children and her dear husband within their stately home. The older girls take after their father, all gentle with chestnut hair and warm brown eyes while the boys had the bold streak of the North in them - dark hair with light eyes and all the charm of the long-forgotten Brandon Stark. The youngest girl, the father’s favorite, had red hair and blue eyes much like her mother.

It is also said that the beloved Queen Margaery took the father for her personal advisor and provided him full protection and for his children, grand positions in her court. Two of them - a boy and a girl - are sent to Winterfell to rebuild the broken city. 

Although it is true that, sometimes in life, the monsters do win, let it be known that they can be overcome. After all, as they say, it is darkest before the dawn.


End file.
